Following
on
the heels of THE ODDLY COMPELLING ART OF DENIS
KITCHEN, an overview
of the pioneering underground cartoonist (Dark Horse
Books, 2010),
DENIS KITCHEN'S CHIPBOARD SKETCHBOOK is comprised of
the peculiar
drawings on "chipboard" that Kitchen has done below
the radar for many
years. Chipboard is the heavy, grainy card stock at
the base of writing
tablets. The artist started the habit of drawing on
this unlikely
substance during long, often boring production
meetings at Kitchen Sink
Press, his former publishing company, when he would
flip his notes
tablet over and doodle with a combination of the
only tools at hand: a
Sharpie pen and fine-point uni-ball pen.

With subject matter often extremely bizarre, or, in
his own words, even "demented," Kitchen filed these
away for many years. They were seen
only his close friends and colleagues until this
collection.

Measuring 6 1/4 x 8 3/4 inches, the book features an
extra thick 3 mm
cover stock (chipboard, of course) with a de-bossed
cover image and
horizontal belly band. The full-color 128-page
hardcover was edited and
designed by Greg Sadowski and art directed by John
Lind. The same pair
won an American Graphic Design Award for their work
on "Underground
Classics" (by Kitchen & James Danky, Abrams,
2009).

For
the personalized edition, available only from this
web
site, Denis Kitchen will create one of his
patented chipboard drawings
on the thick chipboard back cover. None of these
are alike. Though
these drawings are by nature spontaneous and
pulled from the id, he
will incorporate a personal theme on request.
Samples of personalized
back covers are shown here. Such covers will be
signed (and numbered in
the order created). $100

About the author:

Denis
Kitchen's career began in 1968 as a self-published
"underground"
cartoonist (Mom's Homemade Comics). This led to the
formation of
his pioneer publishing company, Kitchen Sink Press. For
thirty years he
published classic and underground artists alike, including
R. Crumb,
Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Milton Caniff, Al Capp,
Scott McCloud,
Dave McKean, Mark Schultz, Howard Cruse, Justin Green,
Alan Moore, Art
Spiegelman and Charles Burns. During these years Kitchen
Sink won
industry awards far disproportionate to its market share,
sometimes
more than any other publisher. In 1986 he founded and for
its first
eighteen years served as President of the Comic Book Legal
Defense
Fund, a non-profit organization dedicated to defending the
industry's
First Amendment rights.

After
the
demise
of Kitchen Sink Press in 1999, his diversified activities
include being a literary and art agent for a number of
prominent
clients and estates. Wearing a writer's hat, he
co-authored two books
in 2009 for Abrams: "Underground Classics" and "The Art of
Harvey Kurtzman." Both received award nominations
and the latter
won both an Eisner Award and Harvey Award in 2010. He is
currently
working on a biography of Al Capp. Dark Horse Books
published "The
Oddly
Compelling Art of Denis Kitchen" in 2010 and, in
conjunction,
a retrospective of his work was exhibited at New York
City's Museum of
Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) in 2010-11.

Back
cover
text

Underground cartoonist and
longtime publisher
Denis Kitchen began drawing on the "chipboard" back of
writing tablets
during long, often boring meetings at Kitchen Sink
Press, starting in
the late 80s. These spontaneous drawings, done
primarily with Sharpie
markers and uni-ball pens, are distinctly surreal. The
peculiar
textured surfaces, unusual drawing tools, and possibly
peeks into the
artist's id contribute equally to the unique look.
After accumulating
nearly a quarter century of these private drawings in
drawers, Kitchen
was persuaded by associates to publish the roughly 150
examples
showcased within this book, presented with an
introduction by the
artist. Readers interested in seeing his better known
art or learning
about his diverse counterculture career should look at
"The Oddly
Compelling Art of Denis Kitchen" (Dark Horse, 2010).

Reviews:

"The aesthetics of a
piece of
artwork are informed by the medium it's created
with. The same drawing
can take on different qualities on two different
stocks of paper, or
with two different grades of graphite. It's the
tactile aspect of art
that doesn't seem to get talked about much outside
of art school.
Fortunately, it's front and center in DENIS
KITCHEN'S CHIPBOARD
SKETCHBOARD...The
line work is
remarkably effortless and whimsical and the drawings
on the whole are
hysterical; all the rubbery anatomy, devilish grins,
and disturbing
little beasties that are attendant when perusing a
book of Kitchen
artwork are on full display here... It's
really amazing to
consider that all of these suitably bizarre pieces
are drawn on the
spot....The shading, the proportion, and the pure
comic bombast
collected are an absolute pleasure to look at, and
everything here
provides further proof that Kitchen is a master
cartoonist."
---The Outhouse

From the Introduction:

MY
PECULIAR FASCINATION WITH DRAWING ON
CHIPBOARD

By Denis Kitchen

Sufficiently ancient readers of underground comix and
some younger
comix fans know that once upon a time I was a bona
fide cartoonist.
Though never exactly prolific, I debuted
professionally in the late '60s with a solo
self-published comic book (Mom's Homemade Comics:
Straight from the Kitchen to You) and for a
short while managed to
make a living just by writing and drawing funny
pictures. But early in
my cartooning career I joined the dark side and became
a publisher.
Soon the obligations of Kitchen Sink Press, consumed
me. During the
transitional period I managed to contribute short
pieces and covers to
a number of undergrounds and in the '70s I even did a
weekly strip for
a while and created numerous covers for alternative
newspapers. Much of
this has been collected in The Oddly Compelling
Art of Denis Kitchen
(Dark Horse Books, 2010).

But Kitchen Sink's steady growth over thirty years,
till its demise in
1999, made it increasingly difficult for me to find
time to draw. I
would periodically be lured or browbeaten by an
outside editor but the
literal cobwebs on the "assignments" thumb-tacked to
my drawing board
were the basis of running office jokes. It wasn't that
I didn't want
to draw. I love drawing. But the pressures of
meeting a weekly
payroll for as many as thirty employees, striving to
meet scores of
editorial and production deadlines every month and
simply surviving in
an intensely competitive market meant the Artist in me
was of necessity
subservient to the Businessman.

I can't speak for other cartoonists whose natural urge
to draw takes a
back seat to economic reality, but in my case, the
practical outlet for
that compulsive drive became doodling. As the head of
Kitchen Sink, I
was obligated to participate in seemingly endless
corporate meetings,
editorial meetings, marketing meetings, production
meetings, planning
sessions and so on. To some participants in those
meetings I may have
appeared rapt with attention at the head of the long
table, taking "notes" on an ever-present writing
tablet attached to a clipboard. And
in fact I was listening and participating with
a reasonably
large portion of my brain. But in reality the tablet
was often flipped
over and I was drawing on the side with "chipboard,"
the term printers
use for the heavy cardstock forming the base of
ordinary writing
tablets.

For reasons I can't fully explain, I grew and remain
quite fond of
chipboard and its somewhat coarse, pulpy surface
texture. My drawing
tools were simple: a Sharpie pen for thick lines and a
Uni-Ball Micro
ballpoint for shading and more detailed "noodling."
That odd threesome "Sharpies, Uni-Balls and chipboard"
grew at first out of convenience:
they were all that I had in meetings. But then I
maintained the
combination from aesthetic pleasure. On several fundamental levels
the art in this
book, and certainly the technique, differs drastically
from the art in
the Oddly Compelling book.

When drawing commercial comics or illustrations for
publication I first
think of the idea/image, do thumbnails, then create
layouts on a cold
press illustration board. There the pencil lines can
easily be erased
until the preliminary outlines are satisfactory. I
then carefully apply
ink to the pencils using a Winsor & Newton Series
7 No. 3 sable
brush. If a mistake is made, those inked lines can be
covered with
white correction paint and re-inked. To a confirmed
"brush man,"
controlling the tip of the delicately tapered Russian
fur is something
akin to playing a finely crafted and tuned violin. My
inking technique
is by nature slow. I love to include fine detail,
subtle shading and
tiny elements that few readers ever see (especially
when the larger
images are reduced for publication). I take pride in
most inked
drawings and I certainly don't intend to stop using a
brush.

But the drawings in this collection are polar
opposites of my
brushwork. One obvious distinction is the lower
contrast between the
natural color of chipboard and black ink in comparison
to the harsh
contrast of black on a pure white surface. The
textures are likewise
dissimilar. Under magnification the surface of
chipboard looks like a
choppy, stormy sea compared to the placid water of
cold press
illustration board.

Most critically, my chipboard drawings are completely
spontaneous,
never conceived ahead of time and never penciled. I
have no idea what
I'm going to do when the Sharpie point hits board.
That makes for
exhilarating creative danger. If inking penciled under
drawings with a
brush is akin to following a musical score on a
violin, then Sharpies
on chipboard is more like drumming loose and free to a
jungle rhythm. I
allow my sub-conscious mind to take control, even as
I'm consciously
listening to someone drone on.

Without preconceived direction, I will typically start
with an abstract
line on the chipboard. It might quickly evolve into a
vague nose or an
ear, but once that general direction is established I
still do not know
if the ear belongs to a human, a creature or neither.
This
stream-of-consciousness approach concocts images that
often genuinely
surprise me as the lines unfold. This form of
self-entertainment is
itself both incentive and reward.Because of the spontaneity of
creation and
the unforgiving nature of the pens, no "mistakes" can
be erased. If I'm
unhappy with an indelible line, I simply ignore it or
work around the
imperfection, often leading to new surprises. And
since these mere
doodles were never intended for publication (until
now) and rarely seen
by anyone, the immediate permanence of every stroke or
stipple was
never intimidating. Creating chipboard drawings is a
distinctly
liberating alternative to the planned, painstaking
formality involved
in creating comic art or illustrations. The latter are
altogether
different accomplishments but generally are more work
than pleasure.

Certain motifs reoccur in chipboard art that I cannot
rationally
explain: strange birds, gnarled wings attached to men
and beasts,
peculiar headwear, human feet on animals, devil horns,
grimacing teeth
and twisted limbs. I suppose on some level these
uninhibited chipboard
drawings could be a therapeutic release of internal
demons. If so,
they've conceivably saved me a small fortune in
psychotherapy. But I
prefer not reading any meaning whatever into images,
whether recurring
or singular. Sometimes a winged fish-headed man with
horns is just a
winged fish-headed man with horns, right?

I used to feel a certain residual guilt about doodling
during those
company meetings. Could my apparent inattentiveness
have contributed to
the eventual collapse of Kitchen Sink Press? Those
were genuine, if
fleeting, concerns. But last year I ran across a
reassuring tidbit in WebMD.
It said studies demonstrated that doodling during
meetings
actually helps retain key information. In
fact, according to
the British study in Applied Cognitive Psychology,
doodlers
retained 29% more information than non-doodlers tested
in a control
group.

Of the hundreds of chipboard drawings I created during
countless
now-forgotten meetings or long phone calls, editor/art
director John
Lind and designer Greg Sadowski helped me select the
finalists in this
collection. Sorting through more than two decades of
accumulated
chipboard drawings while assembling this book has
actually inspired me
to start drawing again in this manner. Now I keep the
trusty trio of
tools next to my living room easy chair and find
myself frequently
reaching for chipboard and Sharpie or Uni-Ball during
boring TV shows
and interminable commercials. Evidently boring company
meetings are not
a prerequisite for chipboard doodling. And as an
unexpected bonus,
compared to family members seated nearby, I retain 29%
more of all
infomercials.

Following
on
the heels of THE ODDLY COMPELLING ART OF DENIS
KITCHEN, an overview
of the pioneering underground cartoonist (Dark Horse
Books, 2010),
DENIS KITCHEN'S CHIPBOARD SKETCHBOOK is comprised of
the peculiar
drawings on "chipboard" that Kitchen has done below
the radar for many
years. Chipboard is the heavy, grainy card stock at
the base of writing
tablets. The artist started the habit of drawing on
this unlikely
substance during long, often boring production
meetings at Kitchen Sink
Press, his former publishing company, when he would
flip his notes
tablet over and doodle with a combination of the
only tools at hand: a
Sharpie pen and fine-point uni-ball pen.

With subject matter often extremely bizarre, or, in
his own words, even "demented," Kitchen filed these
away for many years. They were seen
only his close friends and colleagues until this
collection.

Measuring 6 1/4 x 8 3/4 inches, the book features an
extra thick 3 mm
cover stock (chipboard, of course) with a de-bossed
cover image and
horizontal belly band. The full-color 128-page
hardcover was edited and
designed by Greg Sadowski and art directed by John
Lind. The same pair
won an American Graphic Design Award for their work
on "Underground
Classics" (by Kitchen & James Danky, Abrams,
2009).

For
the personalized edition, available only from this
web
site, Denis Kitchen will create one of his
patented chipboard drawings
on the thick chipboard back cover. None of these
are alike. Though
these drawings are by nature spontaneous and
pulled from the id, he
will incorporate a personal theme on request.
Samples of personalized
back covers are shown here. Such covers will be
signed (and numbered in
the order created). $100

About the author:

Denis
Kitchen's career began in 1968 as a self-published
"underground"
cartoonist (Mom's Homemade Comics). This led to the
formation of
his pioneer publishing company, Kitchen Sink Press. For
thirty years he
published classic and underground artists alike, including
R. Crumb,
Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Milton Caniff, Al Capp,
Scott McCloud,
Dave McKean, Mark Schultz, Howard Cruse, Justin Green,
Alan Moore, Art
Spiegelman and Charles Burns. During these years Kitchen
Sink won
industry awards far disproportionate to its market share,
sometimes
more than any other publisher. In 1986 he founded and for
its first
eighteen years served as President of the Comic Book Legal
Defense
Fund, a non-profit organization dedicated to defending the
industry's
First Amendment rights.

After
the
demise
of Kitchen Sink Press in 1999, his diversified activities
include being a literary and art agent for a number of
prominent
clients and estates. Wearing a writer's hat, he
co-authored two books
in 2009 for Abrams: "Underground Classics" and "The Art of
Harvey Kurtzman." Both received award nominations
and the latter
won both an Eisner Award and Harvey Award in 2010. He is
currently
working on a biography of Al Capp. Dark Horse Books
published "The
Oddly
Compelling Art of Denis Kitchen" in 2010 and, in
conjunction,
a retrospective of his work was exhibited at New York
City's Museum of
Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) in 2010-11.

Back
cover
text

Underground cartoonist and
longtime publisher
Denis Kitchen began drawing on the "chipboard" back of
writing tablets
during long, often boring meetings at Kitchen Sink
Press, starting in
the late 80s. These spontaneous drawings, done
primarily with Sharpie
markers and uni-ball pens, are distinctly surreal. The
peculiar
textured surfaces, unusual drawing tools, and possibly
peeks into the
artist's id contribute equally to the unique look.
After accumulating
nearly a quarter century of these private drawings in
drawers, Kitchen
was persuaded by associates to publish the roughly 150
examples
showcased within this book, presented with an
introduction by the
artist. Readers interested in seeing his better known
art or learning
about his diverse counterculture career should look at
"The Oddly
Compelling Art of Denis Kitchen" (Dark Horse, 2010).

Reviews:

"The aesthetics of a
piece of
artwork are informed by the medium it's created
with. The same drawing
can take on different qualities on two different
stocks of paper, or
with two different grades of graphite. It's the
tactile aspect of art
that doesn't seem to get talked about much outside
of art school.
Fortunately, it's front and center in DENIS
KITCHEN'S CHIPBOARD
SKETCHBOARD...The
line work is
remarkably effortless and whimsical and the drawings
on the whole are
hysterical; all the rubbery anatomy, devilish grins,
and disturbing
little beasties that are attendant when perusing a
book of Kitchen
artwork are on full display here... It's
really amazing to
consider that all of these suitably bizarre pieces
are drawn on the
spot....The shading, the proportion, and the pure
comic bombast
collected are an absolute pleasure to look at, and
everything here
provides further proof that Kitchen is a master
cartoonist."
---The Outhouse

From the Introduction:

MY
PECULIAR FASCINATION WITH DRAWING ON
CHIPBOARD

By Denis Kitchen

Sufficiently ancient readers of underground comix and
some younger
comix fans know that once upon a time I was a bona
fide cartoonist.
Though never exactly prolific, I debuted
professionally in the late '60s with a solo
self-published comic book (Mom's Homemade Comics:
Straight from the Kitchen to You) and for a
short while managed to
make a living just by writing and drawing funny
pictures. But early in
my cartooning career I joined the dark side and became
a publisher.
Soon the obligations of Kitchen Sink Press, consumed
me. During the
transitional period I managed to contribute short
pieces and covers to
a number of undergrounds and in the '70s I even did a
weekly strip for
a while and created numerous covers for alternative
newspapers. Much of
this has been collected in The Oddly Compelling
Art of Denis Kitchen
(Dark Horse Books, 2010).

But Kitchen Sink's steady growth over thirty years,
till its demise in
1999, made it increasingly difficult for me to find
time to draw. I
would periodically be lured or browbeaten by an
outside editor but the
literal cobwebs on the "assignments" thumb-tacked to
my drawing board
were the basis of running office jokes. It wasn't that
I didn't want
to draw. I love drawing. But the pressures of
meeting a weekly
payroll for as many as thirty employees, striving to
meet scores of
editorial and production deadlines every month and
simply surviving in
an intensely competitive market meant the Artist in me
was of necessity
subservient to the Businessman.

I can't speak for other cartoonists whose natural urge
to draw takes a
back seat to economic reality, but in my case, the
practical outlet for
that compulsive drive became doodling. As the head of
Kitchen Sink, I
was obligated to participate in seemingly endless
corporate meetings,
editorial meetings, marketing meetings, production
meetings, planning
sessions and so on. To some participants in those
meetings I may have
appeared rapt with attention at the head of the long
table, taking "notes" on an ever-present writing
tablet attached to a clipboard. And
in fact I was listening and participating with
a reasonably
large portion of my brain. But in reality the tablet
was often flipped
over and I was drawing on the side with "chipboard,"
the term printers
use for the heavy cardstock forming the base of
ordinary writing
tablets.

For reasons I can't fully explain, I grew and remain
quite fond of
chipboard and its somewhat coarse, pulpy surface
texture. My drawing
tools were simple: a Sharpie pen for thick lines and a
Uni-Ball Micro
ballpoint for shading and more detailed "noodling."
That odd threesome "Sharpies, Uni-Balls and chipboard"
grew at first out of convenience:
they were all that I had in meetings. But then I
maintained the
combination from aesthetic pleasure. On several fundamental levels
the art in this
book, and certainly the technique, differs drastically
from the art in
the Oddly Compelling book.

When drawing commercial comics or illustrations for
publication I first
think of the idea/image, do thumbnails, then create
layouts on a cold
press illustration board. There the pencil lines can
easily be erased
until the preliminary outlines are satisfactory. I
then carefully apply
ink to the pencils using a Winsor & Newton Series
7 No. 3 sable
brush. If a mistake is made, those inked lines can be
covered with
white correction paint and re-inked. To a confirmed
"brush man,"
controlling the tip of the delicately tapered Russian
fur is something
akin to playing a finely crafted and tuned violin. My
inking technique
is by nature slow. I love to include fine detail,
subtle shading and
tiny elements that few readers ever see (especially
when the larger
images are reduced for publication). I take pride in
most inked
drawings and I certainly don't intend to stop using a
brush.

But the drawings in this collection are polar
opposites of my
brushwork. One obvious distinction is the lower
contrast between the
natural color of chipboard and black ink in comparison
to the harsh
contrast of black on a pure white surface. The
textures are likewise
dissimilar. Under magnification the surface of
chipboard looks like a
choppy, stormy sea compared to the placid water of
cold press
illustration board.

Most critically, my chipboard drawings are completely
spontaneous,
never conceived ahead of time and never penciled. I
have no idea what
I'm going to do when the Sharpie point hits board.
That makes for
exhilarating creative danger. If inking penciled under
drawings with a
brush is akin to following a musical score on a
violin, then Sharpies
on chipboard is more like drumming loose and free to a
jungle rhythm. I
allow my sub-conscious mind to take control, even as
I'm consciously
listening to someone drone on.

Without preconceived direction, I will typically start
with an abstract
line on the chipboard. It might quickly evolve into a
vague nose or an
ear, but once that general direction is established I
still do not know
if the ear belongs to a human, a creature or neither.
This
stream-of-consciousness approach concocts images that
often genuinely
surprise me as the lines unfold. This form of
self-entertainment is
itself both incentive and reward.Because of the spontaneity of
creation and
the unforgiving nature of the pens, no "mistakes" can
be erased. If I'm
unhappy with an indelible line, I simply ignore it or
work around the
imperfection, often leading to new surprises. And
since these mere
doodles were never intended for publication (until
now) and rarely seen
by anyone, the immediate permanence of every stroke or
stipple was
never intimidating. Creating chipboard drawings is a
distinctly
liberating alternative to the planned, painstaking
formality involved
in creating comic art or illustrations. The latter are
altogether
different accomplishments but generally are more work
than pleasure.

Certain motifs reoccur in chipboard art that I cannot
rationally
explain: strange birds, gnarled wings attached to men
and beasts,
peculiar headwear, human feet on animals, devil horns,
grimacing teeth
and twisted limbs. I suppose on some level these
uninhibited chipboard
drawings could be a therapeutic release of internal
demons. If so,
they've conceivably saved me a small fortune in
psychotherapy. But I
prefer not reading any meaning whatever into images,
whether recurring
or singular. Sometimes a winged fish-headed man with
horns is just a
winged fish-headed man with horns, right?

I used to feel a certain residual guilt about doodling
during those
company meetings. Could my apparent inattentiveness
have contributed to
the eventual collapse of Kitchen Sink Press? Those
were genuine, if
fleeting, concerns. But last year I ran across a
reassuring tidbit in WebMD.
It said studies demonstrated that doodling during
meetings
actually helps retain key information. In
fact, according to
the British study in Applied Cognitive Psychology,
doodlers
retained 29% more information than non-doodlers tested
in a control
group.

Of the hundreds of chipboard drawings I created during
countless
now-forgotten meetings or long phone calls, editor/art
director John
Lind and designer Greg Sadowski helped me select the
finalists in this
collection. Sorting through more than two decades of
accumulated
chipboard drawings while assembling this book has
actually inspired me
to start drawing again in this manner. Now I keep the
trusty trio of
tools next to my living room easy chair and find
myself frequently
reaching for chipboard and Sharpie or Uni-Ball during
boring TV shows
and interminable commercials. Evidently boring company
meetings are not
a prerequisite for chipboard doodling. And as an
unexpected bonus,
compared to family members seated nearby, I retain 29%
more of all
infomercials.